Here I sit, in our new house, all unpacked. My husband is next to me on our couch, Hap is asleep on the floor, and RB is snoozing in his bedroom. He's got a cold and probably pink eye at the moment. We're seeing our new pediatrician in the morning. It's been a very snotty, gunky few days, and it's been a physically and emotionally challenging month.
Moving is hard. If you've never moved, I am impressed. If you have moved and don't feel it's hard, you are an alien to me. Beau and I have uprooted our lives time and time again to find our place in this world. We moved to the Virgin Islands to follow Beau's dream of starting his own business, and he did just that, against all odds. We moved to Florida to start a family, and we did just that. Now we are in Texas. We want RB to grow up around his family. We want him to know as much love as he can. That was hard, being in Florida with a newborn and our village so far from us. Our family visited as much as they could but as RB got bigger, so did our awareness of the fleeting of time and the space between us and those that love us.
We've leaned on our family a lot the past few weeks. I don't think RB's feet touched the ground for weeks on end, honestly. He was held and loved by every person who we spent time with.
Firstly, my mother-in-law and her partner (and one of her sisters) rescued us from the depths of a Motel 8 when we were on the front lines of illness and exhaustion. We then stayed with her other sister, Sherri, and her husband, John. We were still shells of our former selves, drifting between the reality of being parents with a baby who needs us and our own needs of sleep and hydration.
Sherri and John were there. God, they were there in the best way. Sherri was on RB duty. She fed him, changed him, played with him. I would find her and him sitting in a room, looking out the window, because she found he liked to watch. She made him laugh. She soothed him when he cried. She put him down for naps and listened intently for him to wake. John would feed us any chance he got. If we even looked hungry (and we were, after the Great Exodus), suddenly, there was John, with a burrito or fruit or a sandwich. He was so patient with Hap, who has about 80lbs on the biggest of their two dogs. They were patient and gentle with us in our fragile states. Never complaining. Only loving.
After a few days at their home, we made our way to my mother-in-laws house. There, Cindy did every single thing she could with our little guy. Bath? All her. Bottle? All her. He needs Tylenol? She was up for the fight. Wayne would give RB gentle kisses and walk him around, showing him their home. He would cook us dinner, just because he wanted to. We were tired and needed some quiet time, and they understood. Hap had the zoomies? Then Wayne was in the case. RB's toys were everywhere and the mess brought only joy.
We attended a beautiful Sip & See hosted by some of my mother's best friends. They pulled out all the stops. There was so much food and even more happiness. I got to watch my petite sister-in-law hold RB and the juxtaposition of their sizes made me smile. Everyone was delighted to see our chunky hunk. He was passed around like the hot potato he is. From arms to laps to arms and back to laps. Every new person he met, he looked at with wonder, and they looked back with delight. So many people took the time out of that day to just meet our guy. Our guy who can't talk, can't walk, can't socialize like the rest of us. That didn't stop him though. He was absolutely the star of the show. "Wall flower" is not a term I think we'll ever use to describe RB.
We had our annual Fourth of July party. RB proved himself, once again, to be the center of attention. His godmother and her husband held him and, Lord, did all three of them get giggles and laughs in. One of Beau's best friends, Brian, since his childhood was holding RB, and I mentioned I thought he might be hungry. I was fully prepared for Brian to hand him over so I could feed him. Instead, he just looked at RB, and then back at me with a look that said, "well, it sounds like we need a bottle, don't we?" I brought him a bottle and he fed that kid and that kid ate in his arms like he was right at home. Our friend, Devon, who we have known since high school, he has commented on almost everything I've posted of RB saying he couldn't wait to meet our little guy. Devon arrived and he was jazzed to meet our not-so-little guy. There were so many people at this event that were straight up elated to hold our son and give him love.
We went to Oklahoma with my extended family. My cousins, all between the age of 15 and 22, they bring me so much joy. They're so silly and fun and seem to genuinely enjoy just being. Beau beat everyone at pool and poker, and they showed him just how much Edmistons eat (it can be shocking). We played a game, and my cousins made one of the questions "what does RB really stand for?" The two best answers were Radical Badass and Randy Bazinga. If RB wasn't in my mom's lap, then he was in my dad's, and if he wasn't there, he was in someone else's arms. He laughed and smiled and so did the rest of us.
Then, Beau went to Florida to pack up our house, and RB and I stayed at my parents house for a few days. Each night, someone else did bath time. Each day, either Momo (my mom) or Grandpa Jeff did bottles. They fed him his purees (always messy) and laughed and squealed and soaked in the moments. There was a naptime where he put up quite the fight. My dad's motto when it comes to fussy babies is "I will not be defeated". After an hour (and change), RB finally fell asleep on my dad, the soothing rise and fall of his chest lulling my son into a much needed snooze. The motto stands strong. My brother gave RB a stuffed Mario toy and seemed quite pleased when RB took to it. He showed RB some silly kids shows on YouTube and RB was entranced with the shows and with his uncle.
When RB and I met Beau at our new house to unpack the moving truck, my mom came with. RB hates being in his car seat for longer than 30 minutes. We left at 6am thinking RB would keep sleeping (uh, I am a fool, and he did not). My mom and I sang the entire drive. She played her memorized tunes, clapping on her legs - so many songs live in that woman's head. Never frustrated, though, she just let RB say what he needed to say and received every sound with an open heart. When we got here, she hung out with RB while Beau and I unpacked. She slept next to him on the floor when all we had unpacked was his Pack and Play. She played with him and made a special playlist for him for his jumper. All the songs are Jump or Flight related. She was exhausted but he never knew.
My dad and brother drove in to retrieve my mother and see our new house. Between the three of them, RB was quite entertained. They left and a day or two later, Cindy and Wayne came to visit. We had a great dinner, cooked by Beau, and Cindy kicked me out at bath time. I mean, not really kicked, but she said I deserved a break, and I didn't argue, then thirty minutes later she was back with us and RB was sound asleep.
My mom and I have been talking about painting his room. She's dying to paint something here. Acts of service is her love language and she is patiently waiting to love on him however she can.
Sherri and John surprised us with a visit the other day. RB was tickled to see them. He'd been tired before, but he saw them and reenergized. He took a great nap after their visit, almost as though his heart was full. That's the best, isn't it? When your soul is nourished, everything else falls into place.
There's no one story in this post. I'm just reflecting on how insanely blessed we are. We've done with parenting this for eight months with our village a thousand miles away. It's nice - shit, more than nice, but I don't know a word to better describe it - being where we can get to our family and they can get to us. We've already seen our family more in the the time we've been here than we'd really been able to in Florida.
Grateful. Thankful. Blessed. Loved. That's what I'm feeling, and it's the greatest. Wish I could bottle it.
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